


Something Lost, Something Gained

by ChrysCare, InMoNochrome, Searece



Series: (Something Universe) [2]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-27 14:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrysCare/pseuds/ChrysCare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/InMoNochrome/pseuds/InMoNochrome, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searece/pseuds/Searece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having a special ops mech for a bondmate is not something to take lightly, at least not for Prowl.  Jazz with Energon treats is a servoful alone, but when something strange happens and both Jazz and Jazz want Energon treats, will Prowl be able to deal with them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Lost, Something Gained

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover with Chryscare's "Something to be thankful for" and Searece's and InMoNochrome's "Singer."

This was not what he planned for. He wanted to be special ops. Sure he made the cut but they just informed him that he must have a bondmate. Of course he wasn’t new to spark merging, even with dark cycle terrors his friends merged with him to calm him. Sharing part of your consciousness with another, allowing them to see your weakness. That wasn’t for him. To bond was to hand over your control of your frame, just for the ability to live longer, as long as the other half of your spark was still pulsing.

Jazz sits at the table of Iacon’s _Warm, Spiced, and Sweet_ Energon café. This was his spot. His spot to pretend he didn’t have a deadline to find someone to bond his spark to for forever. Mechs pass by on the street, going on about their ornly routine. They didn’t have to worry about bonding.

“Jazz?” someone familiar says, Jazz looks up to see the black and white Praxian Enforcer standing on the other side of the fence, armor shimmering in the star light.

“Hey,” Jazz says warmly, motioning Prowl over to the table. Prowl carefully sits on the backed chair, leaning forward a little so his doorwings don’t hit the back. “What brings you here?”

A waiter comes up to the table and asks for Prowl’s choice of Energon. Prowl orders Sweetened Energon.

“We apprehended a mech whose main criminal ties are here in Iacon, I was assigned to the export team,” Prowl says as the mech comes back with the Energon. “Thank you.”

“So ya gonna get back ta Praxus soon,” Jazz sighs.

“Yes,” Prowl sips his Energon. “What about you, what have you been up to?”

“Oh ya know, stealin’ stuff here and there,” Jazz glances at Prowl before taking a drink of his Spiced Energon. “Stuff that’ll get me in trouble.”

“I see,” Prowl says with hint of amusement. “If I had jurisdiction here, I would take you in for conspiracy.”

“Thank Primus ya don’t,” Jazz sighs and looks back out to the mechs walking by.

“You seem troubled,” Prowl slides his servo over Jazz’s.

“I gotta bond with someone in three orns,” Jazz sets his cube down and rubs his helm. “I don’t trust my friends that well. To have complete control of my frame, that’s not a quick decision.”

“You trust Mirage,” Prowl sets his cube on the table.

“Yeah but he’s in special ops too,” Jazz says. “I need non-special ops. Someone who don't go blabbing to the first mech they see. I think Mirage is picking Hound. Mech’s lower caste, won’t risk moving upper-caste.”

“I hear Bumblebee picked an Enforcer from Praxus,” Prowl picks up one of the rust sticks in the canister on the table. “He transferred to Iacon to be around Bumblebee.”

“How’s that working out for him? I mean the enforcer.”

“He’s fine with it,” Prowl shrugs. “He was my partner before transferring. I think he wanted to get out of Praxus.”

“Do you trust any other Enforcers?” Jazz looks hopeful at Prowl.

“If you were to go ask them, I think they would lock you back in the cell,” Prowl’s optics glitter as he looks down and finishes his Energon. “I should leave.”

“Well, whenever ya in Iacon again ya can come see me,” Jazz looks up at the Enforcer, Prowl nods slightly and walks away. Jazz sighs as he takes out a data-pad and looks over his list of possible mechs to bond to. Hound is off the list. That left four mechs: Lightdraw, Steelbreak, Cloudsky, and Rundown. Lightdraw was a musician so he wouldn’t risk losing the promotion to a high caste. Steelbreak was a weaponsmith; he makes his gadgets but ran an underground black market. Not really someone to trust with a spark and secrets. Cloudsky . . . Cloudsky was an ID forger. He sells his IDs at the highest price unless it’s for one of the valued customers, customers like him. Cloudsky would probably sell the undercover IDs just to make a profit. Rundown was an ex-Enforcer. He wasn’t the nicest Enforcer but he got the job done. So much different than Prowl. Where Rundown would beat the mech he interrogated, Prowl would drive them into submission just by waiting them out. Rundown wanted answers when he got there, Prowl wanted answers but could wait until the mech broke from the silence.

Jazz orders another Spiced Energon drink as he writes out the pros and cons. This mech had to know him, they had to get along nearly every single day. Steelbreak gets crossed off. Mech had a temper if he thought someone was stealing from him. He knew weapons not mechs. Jazz couldn’t let that kind of mech have the ability to control him.

Cloudsky actually used one of his undercover IDs to sell and nearly cost him the mission. There were two mechs with the same designation and IDs. Jazz crosses off Cloudsky.

Lightdraw is his best friend. They started a club together. He trusts this mech. Actually, he trusts this mech enough to let his frame be controlled by him. Jazz finishes his cube, pays the bill and leaves a tip for the waiter before heading off to the club.

As he approaches the club, he notices the lights are off, which is strange since the club should be open by now. Jazz touches the door and it opens slowly. Stools and tables are scattered around the room as if someone tossed them.

“Lightdraw?” Jazz calls out as he steps into the room. Near the counter there is a puddle of glowing blue Energon, Jazz runs to it and finds a mech face down. He runs a scan over the mech. Lightdraw. “No!"

Jazz calls the first person on his emergency comm. list as he falls to the floor.

:Jazz, I was about to leave on the transport,: Prowl’s voice comes over the comm.

:Lightdraw . . . someone killed Lightdraw,: Jazz shakes as he stares at the mech.

:I will be right there,: Prowl states.

Only a few kliks later Jazz hears the sirens of Enforcers. Someone lifts him off the floor and steers him to a chair. Jazz stares blankly at the black and white Enforcer.

“Jazz,” Prowl gently shakes the mech. “Jazz, I need you to tell me everything since you came here.”

“I . . . I was gonna ask him to bond,” Jazz trembles under Prowl’s servos. Prowl flinches and slides his arms around Jazz’s shoulders.

“You’re alright,” Prowl rubs Jazz’s back as the mech starts taking hard and short vents. Blue light washes over Jazz’s frame as Prowl’s chestplates part. Jazz sniffles, vents sputtering as his friend bares his spark for him. Jazz’s chest plates soon separate and the two orbs of energy move closer to one another until they become one. Jazz relaxes into Prowl’s embrace, physical and spark. Prowl holds Jazz close as he feels Jazz’s fear of bonding to some mech who would take advantage of him, the sadness of losing his best friend. “Jazz, if you ever need someone you can trust. I’m right here. Only a comm message away.”

“I know,” Jazz sighs, holding onto the Praxian’s frame, “Thank you.”

Jazz moves away and starts to tell Prowl about what happened when he walked into the club. 

* * *

 The Enforcers finish up at the club, Prowl walks over to Jazz and kneels in front of the chair.

“They know who might have done this,” Prowl lays his servo on Jazz’s knee. “I’ve put in a temporary transfer to Iacon to help them. If you need to, you can stay with me. I know what it’s like to lose a friend. My partner, before Barricade, was shot in the spark trying to save me. He blocked the shot with his own frame. To this orn I still do not understand why he sacrificed himself for me.”

_‘You ain’t corrupt,’_ Jazz thinks as he leans on Prowl’s frame. “I just want to get out of here. I can’t . . . I can’t keep looking at him.”

Prowl glances over his shoulder when Jazz stares at the covered frame of Lightdraw. He pulls Jazz’s helm back so Jazz looks at him.

“Follow me, I found somewhere in Iacon that I like and is rarely ever occupied,” Prowl leads Jazz through the streets of Iacon to a desolate building which is starting to crumble. Jazz starts laughing.

“Prowler, this is the old transport hub from forever ago,” Jazz shakes his helm. Prowl continues to pull the smaller mech along.

“You see what was, I see what is,” Prowl pulls Jazz into the main lobby, crusted gold walls flake off in small shining flakes. The ceiling’s silver paint does the same. Gold and silver flakes fall around them as they stand in the center. Jazz turns around watching as the light from the panel windows under the domed ceiling make the flakes sparkle.

“Wow,” Jazz looks back at Prowl. “How did you find this?”

“After the mech was turned in to the Iacon security facility, we had extra time,” Prowl steps up to Jazz and slides his servos over the mech’s shoulders. “I can't stay in one place for very long without a purpose so I patrolled around. I came to this abandoned building and came inside to see if there were any mechs vandalizing or looting the place. But this isn’t what I was showing you. It’s deeper inside.”

Prowl glances back and Jazz just gapes at him. “What more could there be?”

“You’ll see,” Prowl’s optics sparkle and offers his servo to Jazz. Jazz slides his black servo into to the white one, black and white, just like Prowl’s frame colors. They matched. Prowl glances over his shoulder, Jazz catches the slight silver in the blue optics, just now realizing how the other’s optics shone ice blue. Ice was rare on Cybertron, the color was rare. No paint could match it, no light could really come close, but here it was. Right in front of him. His own optics were just the standard sapphire blue like ninety-five percent of Cybertronians.

Prowl leads Jazz down the stairwell, doorwings nearly scraping the walls. Doorwings, only Praxians had doorwings. How they managed to not mangle them was beyond Jazz. He knew they were sensitive. They could sense a mech behind them from blocks away. He reaches his servo out to touch one, it flicks away but Prowl does nothing. He reaches out again, servo touching the metal, malleable metal bending under his touch. Prowl stops and glances back at Jazz. Jazz reaches his other servo out to touch the edge.

“You are touching my wings,” Prowl states quietly. Jazz nods as he continues to stare in awe at the semi-solid wings.

“They’re so different from what I thought they would be,” Jazz presses his faceplates against the nearest one.

“Jazz,” Prowl continues to stare at the silver mech.

“Yes Prowler,” Jazz rubs his faceplates over the doorwing as it molds to his face.

“Do you know what you are doing?” Prowl asks, stumbling a bit.

“I’m petting yer wings,” Jazz tilts his helm forward.

“That is not what I am reading you are trying to do,” Prowl stumbles and falls to a knee. Jazz clenches his jaw as Prowl shudders on the stairs.

“Did I hurt you?” Jazz kneels beside the Praxian.

“It is . . . nothing,” Prowl states and stands, doorwings stiff and out of the way of Jazz’s reach. “Please do not touch my wings.”

“Oh, sorry,” Jazz glances down, Prowl nods and starts walking down the stairs again. They reach a room, the door stands partially opened and stuck by a beam at the ceiling. Jazz steps around Prowl as they enter the room. Large pink crystals of Energon glow in the darkness. Small pools of liquid Energon circle around them. Something sparkles up on the ceiling and Jazz focuses his sight on one. A small Light Cell flitters around in the air before landing on Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl looks at Jazz, ice blue optics lighting his surroundings. Jazz’s sapphire only lights his face.

“So, this is what I wanted to show you,” Prowl motions around the room. “I think there might have been a cave in or something.”

“Prowl, I . . . would you be the one I bonded to?” Jazz steps up to the Praxian.

“Jazz . . .” Prowl takes a step back. “I’m glad you trust me enough but shouldn’t you learn more about me? I mean, the bond would show you everything anyway. There are some things I am not proud of. This mech you think I am, it took a long time to get to this point.”

“What are ya talking about?”

“I was not always the good Enforcer,” Prowl looks down and turns away, only the white of the Praxian’s frame visible by the pink Energon. “My mentor . . . he was not a nice mech."  His mentor was Rundown. Rundown taught him how to beat a mech until they broke.  "My mentor . . . he taught me how . . . he taught me how to find information by merging. I did it. I liked the feeling of being in charge, in control." The mechs would never bare their sparks to another again. "Each Praxian learns how to make Energon treats. My mentor showed me a fix to make a mech open their spark chamber. Jazz, back there, in the club . . . that was the first time I merged since I quit doing that, taking.”

“Prowl . . .” Jazz winces as the sound of his pedes reverberate as he steps away from Prowl.

“I’m sorry you had to learn that about me,” Prowl looks at Jazz. The silver mech turns and runs out of the room. Prowl sighs and looks at the Light Cell. “Mech would believe anything.”

Prowl shakes his helm and sits by the Energon crystals.

“What do you mean I’ll believe anything?” Jazz stomps back into the room. “I didn’t run away. I ran out the room and listened in.”

“It was all true except my mentor wasn’t unnamed, he was Rundown,” Prowl looks down at his servos. “I know Rundown was one of your cover’s friends. I . . . I just thought you would have . . . I don’t know. Jazz, you shouldn’t have to bond to a mech with a past like mine or Rundown’s. You should have had Lightdraw.”

“Prowler,” Jazz kneels beside Prowl. “I still want you to be my bonded but I see that you aren’t ready. I’ll wait. I just needed a name of the mech. I won’t be on any missions until we bond but I’d be special ops. I could do the paper work, though I hate paper work.”

“Who doesn't?” Prowl tilts his helm and pulls Jazz into a hug. “Thank you for staying. Other than Enforcers, you are my only friend.”

“Mech you need to get out more,” Jazz taps Prowl’s chest as he rests his helm against it.

“I’m out every single orn,” Prowl starts rubbing Jazz’s helm making the mech purr. “I have patrols.”

“Yeah, sure ya do,” Jazz laughs. 

* * *

 Prowl onlines to his comms going off every nanoklik. Jazz tumbles off his frame as he stands. Prowl sends a message to Jazz telling the recharging mech he left and why. Prowl runs up the stairs and out into the lit surface of Cybertron. Plumes of smoke come from the south and he transforms, driving toward Praxus. A line of mechs are stopped on the bridge leading to Praxus.

“Bridge is closed,” an Iaconian Enforcer says. Prowl transforms, climbing up the edge of the bridge to look over the sea of light. The crystal towers fall in shards as seekers fly over helm, each shard reflecting a different color. The screams of the Praxian can be heard from across the sea. The comms continue to ping his inbox until they slowly stop coming in. The sounds of the screams slowly fade into silence. Prowl stands trembling as the last of the crystal spires crumble in chiming, glittering sheet of crystal. “Praxian, you need to step down from-“

“Quiet,” Prowl hisses, doorwings perked up to their highest. Ice blue optics offline, audios turn off, silence surrounds him. The bridge itself only showing up on his doorwing sensors, servo and pede sensors are off. Even the intake of chemicals and substance in his ventilation disappears.

Soon the bridge is mapped out, one thousand forty five Cybertronians lined up to visit or pass through Praxus, six of them Enforcers, twenty Kaonite frames, thirty-nine Iaconian, one Praxian, six hundred Polyhexian, two hundred from Tarn. The rest are from the lesser city-states. The Sea of Lights' caverns map out in his processor. Light Worms burrow the tunnels and caverns, Light Cells flutter around each cavern. He reaches the wall of Praxus on his map.

Then the destruction maps out in his processor. Frames of deactivated mechs stick out of piles of debris; many smashed, a couple without some limb or another. The piles of buildings would be unrecognizable if he hadn’t mapped the city-state as a cadet. He reaches the other side of the city-state. Processor going over all the data as he stands on the edge of the bridge, one of the piles was off-center. One scan showed it one place; the next part of the scan did not show up what was predicted. There was movement. Prowl onlines his sensors and looks down at the Enforcer before jumping down and transforming. He flies by the Cybertronians parked on the bridge, sirens wailing, lights flashing.

The Iaconian Enforcers try to stop him but Prowl dodges them. He reaches the entrance of Praxus with the Enforcers a few kliks behind. He climbs over the debris, heading for the anomaly on his map. Someone was online through all of the mess. It was where the Enforcer training camp was. The mech most likely would have been an Enforcer.

Prowl slides down the pile just before the Enforcer training camp. The gray frame of the small Praxian moves slightly.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Prowl says and reaches the mech. Red stripes run along a portion of the mech’s battered frame. “I will get you to the medical center.”

“Everything’s gone,” the mech says, doorwings trembling. Prowl looks over the frame for any major injuries. He sees none, only scrapes and scratches.

“How is your frame not damaged more?” Prowl asks as he helps the Praxian stand.

“I was in the training area when everyone else was in the barracks,” the mech sighs. “I was trying to get better at combat. I was practicing for a test.”

“What is your designation?” Prowl asks, grabbing the mech around the waist.

“Bluestreak,” the mech puts his arm around Prowl’s shoulders.

* * *

Jazz onlines in the darkness, Energon glowing at the far edges of the room. His comm pings with a message from Prowl.

_Praxus fell. Come meet me in the main room._

Jazz slowly gets up and walks up the stairs. The black and white Praxian trembles on the floor in the center of the room.

“Prowl,” Jazz kneels in front of the Praxian. Prowl grabs the mech around the shoulders and holds on tightly. “Here.”

Soft blue light fills the area between their frames. Prowl slowly opens his chest plates. Sparks merge and Jazz flinches at the amount of grief within the ice blue spark. The sense of everything gone stabs him as well as having no one to turn to.

“You have me,” Jazz rubs the red chevron on Prowl’s helm. Prowl tightens his grip.

“I am willing to bond, if you want me,” Prowl whispers, too afraid to break the moment and too afraid all this is some kind of illusion his grief stricken frame is playing out.

“I accept,” Jazz says. Sparks meet in the merge, joining together perfectly before continuing through one another. Each taking half of the other and entering the other’s chamber. Jazz falls offline in Prowl’s arms and Prowl panics.

“Jazz!” Prowl screams, shaking the mech who now has a slight ice blue color to his spark. “Jazz! Come back! Don’t leave me!”

~Never,~ Jazz’s voice whispers against his spark. ~Forever together.~

“Jazz,” Prowl pulls Jazz’s frame close to his. “Jazz, please online.”

The small silver frame onlines in an instant, sapphire blue optics shine bright against Prowl’s neck.

~Can’t move,~ Jazz whimpers over the bond.

“Why not?” Prowl separates from Jazz and looks over the frame. “You seem perfectly fine. Your frame is not broken.”

~I can’t do anything,~ Jazz’s spark starts pulsing faster, at least his part of the one spark.

“Jazz, you’re scaring me,” Prowl starts shaking. “It’s not funny. Move.”

Jazz sits up as fast as his frame lets him. He pants and looks around.

“Oh Primus, it’s worse than I thought!” Jazz screams.

“What’s worse?” Prowl kneels down, optics bright, doorwings low on his back. “Tell me.”

“’Ya controllin’ mah every action fer mah frame. Ya told meh ta online, ya told meh ta move, ya told meh ta tell ya what Ah’m tellin’ ya right now.”

“Jazz, just calm down, you’re running your words together and your accent is completely unintelligible to my processor. Calmly tell me what is going on.”

“You are controlling my every action for my frame. You told me to online. You told me to move. You told me to tell you what I am telling you right now.”

“I am?” Prowl moves back and away from Jazz. “I’m just trying to . . . how?”

“I’m the submissive spark,” Jazz sighs and slumps. "I agreed when you asked."

"Jazz, what does that mean?"

"Who ever asks to bond will be the dominant spark."

"You asked first."

"You said no. Then you asked. My life is over!"

"I don't have to control you. I can learn to not."

* * *

_Prowl sits in the office of the Chief Medical Officer of Iacon. Jazz sits beside him. Quiet and not looking at him, only staring ahead at the desk._

_‘Jazz shouldn’t have bonded, I made him give up his freedom,’ Prowl sighs quietly. The silver mech continues to stare ahead. The door opens and the red and white medic walks in and around his desk to sit in the chair. The medic glances at Jazz before looking at Prowl; doorwings tremble as the medic looks at him._

_“You’re the dominating spark,” Ratchet onlines a data-pad to take notes. Prowl nods slightly and glances over at Jazz._

_“I can’t help but say something wrong to him,” Prowl rubs his arm. “I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to be bonded if it means he’s like this.”_

_“It’s not anyone’s fault,” Ratchet sets the pad down. “Look, I am supposed to write my recommendation and report if Jazz is capable of continuing special ops or you’re abusing your authority over him. I won’t, I can see that you have no idea what you are doing. I am offering a chance for you to learn how to control yourself. The only thing I require is that you need to keep a log of yourself, what you feel, what you want to improve, what you need to improve, what you think Jazz needs.”_

_“Is there really a way to help us?” Prowl asks looking at Jazz still just staring. “See, I don’t even know how that,” Prowl motions to Jazz still staring straight ahead, “happened.”_

_“There are other mechs with bonds,” Ratchet looks at Prowl. “I am bonded to a mech who holds great power and he is the submissive spark. I knew before bonding what would happen. Barricade went through the same thing with Bumblebee as you are with Jazz.”_

_“But he’s fine now,” Prowl glances at Jazz._

_“Yes and you will be as well,” Ratchet says. “Come to this address when you feel up for learning about the triggers.”_

_“Thank you,” Prowl says as he stands to leave. Jazz sits in the chair still staring. “Jazz,” Jazz turns to look at Prowl, sapphire blue optics dull, “um . . .”_

_“Try asking,” Ratchet says._

_“Do you want to come?” Prowl asks, Jazz nods and his optics brighten to their normal setting._  

* * *

 

Prowl lies on the berth looking at the wall of Jazz’s hanger on their Earth base. Jazz recharges behind him as his doorwings flutter slightly. So much has changed since they bonded, he’d learned how to control when he controlled Jazz’s frame. He learned the triggers and the emotions tied it. He also got over the fear of using Jazz’s spark against him. The feeling of something lurking behind him causes him to turn on his doorwing sensors.

“You’re staring at me,” Prowl states without even moving a strut.

“Yer pretty ta look at,” Jazz chirps and curls up behind the Praxian.

“Have you been reading human literature?” Prowl turns over and stares at the silver mech.

“Some,” Jazz chirps and reaches out to Prowl. White servo catches his black and holds it over the black and white chest.

“You are extremely bored without the major Decepticon bases across the planet,” Prowl shakes his helm. “Perhaps we should create another hobby for you. One where you are less likely to deactivate.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jazz tips his helm forward and scoots closer to lean his helm on Prowl’s chest.

“Who said anything about being fun?” Prowl laughs. “All you must do is pass time.”

“Ain’t no fun if it ain’t fun,” Jazz continues to pout up at the Praxian.

“Perhaps Ratchet’s hobby will be to rid you of that annoying accent.”

“Maybe he’ll start after he gets your snobby remarks out of your processor.”

“That’s it,” Prowl pulls away and stands off the berth. “You’ve annoyed me one too many times.”

“Huh,” Jazz sits up on the berth as Prowl pulls something out of a storage unit in the hanger. Prowl tosses something and Jazz catches the gun-like object. “What is it?”

“A gun,” Prowl says pulling one out for himself and shooting Jazz with a small round bullet. The bullet hits his frame and explodes in gray substance that coats the impact place. Prowl flicks his wings and runs out of the room.

“What the slag?” Jazz looks down at his frame.

Prowl waits around the corner of the hanger for Jazz. The silver and black mech steps out with the gun in his servo. A bullet flies through the air and slams against Jazz’s frame, red smears over his chest plates and the saboteur glances around. Ironhide’s helm pops up around the medical hanger. Jazz lifts the gun and shoots. Blue paint splatters on Ironhide’s helm.

“Scrapping heap of the Pit!” Ironhide yells as he wipes the paint from his faceplates.

“This is kinda actually fun,” Jazz laughs and turns to look at Prowl. He raises his gun and Prowl’s ice blue optics brighten, the Praxian turns and runs. Something hard hits his left doorwing as he slides around another building. His sensors in his doorwings online and the data starts flowing in his processor. Blue paint, Jazz hit him.

Prowl peeks around the hanger, something hits his helm and blue paint drips down his face. He shoots Jazz but the mech moves at the last second, grey paint explodes on the wall of Jazz’s hanger.

“Gotta do better than that!” Jazz yells over his makeshift barricades.

“Little scrappers special ops,” Ironhide says as his back hits the hanger Prowl’s hiding behind. “You take that side, I’ll circle around.”

Prowl nods and pulls one of the humans jeeps to make some cover for himself. He kneels on the ground, paint gun resting on the top of the jeep. Jazz’s scream comes from his base and the former silver mech runs away, his frame is now red. Prowl opens fire and the red gets mixed with gray.

“Surrender! I surrender!” Jazz falls to his knees with his arms up.

“Should we trust him?” Prowl asks, gun pointing at Jazz as he and Ironhide walk up to the saboteur.

“Slimy slippery scraplets these mechs are,” Ironhide pushes Jazz’s shoulder with his gun.

“Hey!” Jazz glares up at the mech. White paint splatters across Ironhide’s chest, Mirage’s gold optics shine bright as he and Hound walk up with their guns pointed to Prowl and Ironhide.

“Release my commander,” Mirage lifts his gun to point at Ironhide’s helm.

“Better do as he says,” Hound raises his to Prowl’s helm.

“Fine, no retreat fire,” Ironhide sighs and walks away. Prowl backs slowly, doorwings sensors illuminating his path in his processor. Mirage helps Jazz up and the three mechs back away. Purple paint splatters on Mirage’s chest, completely covering him. Prowl looks up by the trajectory to see Optimus Prime lying on the roof of the hanger. Mirage starts shooting, mostly missing the Prime. Hound starts shooting, green paint covers the edge of the hanger but not hitting the Prime.

Ironhide starts to step up to shoot Mirage when something his shoulder. He looks down and sees small glinting paper imbedded with in black paint. He looks up at the medical hanger. Perceptor aims and fires again. This time hitting Ironhide in the chest. Ironhide fires off countless shots at the sniper but all miss him.

“You are a lousy shot, Ironhide,” Perceptor yells. “How are you the weapons specialist when you can’t even hit a target?”

“Come down here and I’ll show you,” Ironhide yells back. Optimus Prime fires a shot and hits Perceptor’s helm. Perceptor jumps up and looks at the Prime, blue optics bright.

“You taunt too much,” Optimus Prime says.

“When did you learn how to snipe, sir?” Prowl asks as he looks up at the Prime.

“What do you think I spent my spare time doing when I didn’t work at the Archive?” Optimus Prime looks down at the second in command.

“I didn’t know violence was your way,” Prowl pulls the jeep for better protection from Mirage, Hound and Jazz.

“There is nothing violent with snipers,” Optimus Prime shoots Jazz in the helm. Jazz falls down dramatically.

“I’m hit!” Jazz screams. “Medic, medic, I need a medic!”

“One shot, that’s all you need,” Optimus Prime shoots Hound in the chest.

“What on Cybertron are you mechs doing out here?” Ratchet yells as he steps out of the medical hanger.

“Prowl asked to help find Jazz a hobby,” Perceptor starts, Ratchet looks up at the scientist.

“Get down from there!” Ratchet growls.

“What about Optimus?” Perceptor points to the Prime on the other hanger.

“Prime,” Ratchet glowers at the Prime. “Get off the roof.”

Optimus Prime flinches and starts climbing off the roof. Once on the ground, he turns to the medic before shooting the red and white mech with the purple paint. Ratchet sputters for a while before grabbing the gun leaning against the medical hanger, he looks at Mirage who tips his helm.

Ratchet aims and shoots at the Prime. The Prime yelps in pain as it hits where his arm joins to his body, the softer portion of a Cybertronians armor that allows them to move their arms. Ratchet aims again, Optimus Prime jumps behind Ironhide as the medic shoots. Ironhide pushed Prime to the grown when pink paint hits his neck.

An explosion rattles the ground. A large black plume of smoke rises on southern horizon. All the Autobots glance at the area.

“I swear to Primus Wheeljack is going to be reformatted into a toaster and shipped off the planet in the unmanned space crafts,” Ratchet grumbles and goes inside the medical hanger to get his portable equipment.

* * *

 Arriving on the scene, smoke rises in the air around the used to be circular space bridge, Wheeljack’s current project.

“I’m alright!” Wheeljack yells from the tree line. “These trees took the brunt of the explosion.”

The tall trees still stand but their branches and leaves facing the space bridge are no longer there.

“Resilient old fellas,” Wheeljack pats one and it cracks and falls beside Optimus Prime. Ratchet glares at the inventor. “Eh, sorry ‘bout that.”

“What happened?” Optimus Prime looks around the pile of Cybertronian metal, the precious metal rare, especially on Earth. Though due to Lockdown’s recent visit, there were plenty of opportunities to use the seeds to cyberform a portion of their island.

“I don’t know,” Wheeljack shakes his helm. “I was working on the controls one pulse and then . . . it just came alive and all this stuff came out of it. Shoulda seen it, raining stuff from Cybertron.”

“From Cybertron?” Optimus Prime asks as Ratchet plugs in the scanner to Wheeljack’s medical port. “Cybertron has been destroyed. There is nothing left.”

“Tell that to the space bridge,” Wheeljack points to the crumbling space bridge mainframe.


End file.
